


My heart is walking around outside my body, and you've caught it

by ninemoons42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Inception (2010)
Genre: Chocobos, Gen, Ice Cream, Kid Fic, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames hears a certain piece of news and thinks he knows what he must do. Fate has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My heart is walking around outside my body, and you've caught it

  
title: My heart is walking around outside my body, and you've caught it  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
characters: Ariadne, Eames, Arthur, OMC  
warnings: Okay, I've written about Eames and Arthur as kids - but never about one of them having a kid. In other words: here is my take on the kidfic trope.  
Schmoop, a kid being cute, the surprise appearance of a chocobo, and a boy named, well, you'll find out.  
The seeds of this idea were watered and cared for by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/loverly/profile)[**loverly**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/loverly/) , to whom I dedicate this fic.  
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.  
summary: Eames hears a certain piece of news and thinks he knows what he must do. Fate has other ideas.

  
_You have one new message._

Eames sighed and moved the cursor on his laptop. The monitor flickered to life, revealing the following email.

 _So is it true? PM has retired?_

Eames read the single line one more time, contemplated not answering Ariadne at all – and then fired off his reply.

 _Never thought I’d live to see the day. More power to him._

The response came back quickly:

 _And I’m sure you looked at your totem before answering._

Eames had been rolling his poker chip across his knuckles for the past five minutes. But no one needed to know that.

 _Leave him be. That kiss trick of his is just a trick._

 _Wow, are you magnificently dense or what? I had him figured out right on the first day. He doesn’t play for my team, same as you._

Eames snorted. Well, of course, Ariadne hadn’t come highly recommended just because she could create labyrinths like no one else in the business.

Her insight was just a bit too sharp for his tastes, though.

A new email popped up in the thread:

 _So, interested in tracking him down?_

 _No._

 _Bullshit._

 _I’ve had my chance, I’ve missed it, and I’m willing to admit it. I’m out. I’m done._

 _For real?_

 _For real, kitten._

 _What a waste. Come visit me, then._

Eames thought about it for a few moments.

 _At least tell me it’s not fuckin’ raining. I like my climates warm, thanks._

 _I’m in **Paris** , moron, not London. Come on up._

///

“Stuart,” a voice called at the arrivals gate at Charles de Gaulle.

Eames turned, already smiling, and managed to brace his feet just in time for Ariadne to launch herself at him, all long limbs and messy, grinning hugs. “Good to see you again, Ari.”

“Look at my boots,” she said. And, one hand clamped firmly on his arm, she raised her right leg straight up in the air, just barely avoiding kicking an old woman walking past.

“Nice,” Eames laughed, referring to both the split and the boots. They were nearly exactly the sort of boot he’d have worn in Special Forces. Paratrooper boots, but improbably knee-length, and a blazing shade of red.

“I had to spend sooo much just to get these done right – but I’m never ever taking them off,” Ariadne laughed, and carefully put her foot back down. “Come on, let’s go back to my place, we’ve got a lot to do tonight.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I don’t know, we could catch up and paint each other’s nails and shit,”  
Ariadne laughed, rolling her eyes. “Unless you’d rather go out dancing.”

“As appealing as that second option is I’m knackered. I hate flying.”

“The long-hauls to Sydney must have been terrible.”

“Hell on earth. I made sure that I was never sober while traveling,” Eames said, laughing as Ariadne hailed a cab and bullied the driver into charging them the correct rate.

///

“So, Arthur.”

Eames sighed and rolled his eyes, several hours and beer bottles later. “Well, I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that. But you could’ve waited for me to get a little more drunk, Ari.”

“By the time you got buzzed I’d be out like a light.” Ariadne shrugged, the motion much more fluid now that she’d gotten into the booze. She was painting her toenails a loud shade of green. “What was it between you and him?”

“What makes you say there was even anything between us?”

“I’m young, Eames, not blind,” Ariadne laughed. “I didn’t even have to be looking at the two of you to feel that tension. It was like, what, you were compelled to pull each other’s pigtails or something. Some days I couldn’t breathe with all the dysfunction in the place.”

“Says Little Miss All-American.”

“Compared to you guys I _am_ normal,” Ariadne laughed. “Trust me, I’m not, and I think you already know that.”

He thought of the rainy city, of the hotel, of the snowy mountains, and said, “No one can live with landscapes like those dream levels in their head and be all there.”

“Exactly,” Ariadne said. “So. Tell me already, Eames, what the fuck was that?”

Eames sobered a little and took a last pull on his beer. “What do you want to know exactly? I’m not sure it was even secret that I wanted him; I’ve been wanting him for years. But I’d never gotten the chance.”

“Mal? Dom?”

“Both. Damn him. Damn all of them.”

“And now?”

“Fuck if I know,” Eames said. “Sure, I can find him easily – I’ve always been able to keep track of him. But then what would I say? I’m too old for declarations of love; I don’t even know if I want him like that or if I just want him.”

“You could find out,” Ariadne said. “Give me your hand; I’ve got some black here and you might as well wear it.”

“You have impressively steady hands,” Eames said, sidetracked.

“You have no idea how many projects I’ve had to complete half-blasted,” Ariadne giggled. “It’s pretty much a survival skill for me at this point.”

“I know where he is right now,” Eames offered as he watched Ariadne paint his nails. “He’s in New York, I think; he’s got at least one bolthole there.”

“So go see him.”

“I can hardly do that while you’re doing such a good job, and I just got here.”

“I can kick you out in the morning.” Ariadne looked up, then, and Eames cottoned on to the gleam in her eyes.

“Shit, you’re evil,” he said, admiringly.

She hummed, pleased – and the hum turned into a squawk as Eames pulled her in close and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Eames! Oh, thanks. Also, are we friends?”

“What makes you think we’re not?”

“You were a little absent during the job.”

“Naturally. Traveling around the world and all.” He watched as Ariadne shook her head and chuckled to herself. “But yes. Friends.”

///

After a week in Paris Eames decided to start traveling again. After promising Ariadne that he would keep in touch and that he would try not to chip his painted nails again, he returned to Charles de Gaulle and, on impulse, bought a ticket for New York.

“Oh, yes,” he said, pleased, when he walked out of JFK and into a bright morning, golden sunlight slanting into his eyes, a breeze riffling at his hair as he hailed a cab to Manhattan.

He was smiling under the great ceiling of the main concourse in Grand Central Terminal when something hit his hip, hard enough to make him almost jump in surprise.

What he saw when he looked down actually made him take a step back.

The little boy, no more than six years old, looked both intimidated and startled, but he held his ground for all that. Deep brown eyes the shape of almonds, a thin straight nose with a smattering of freckles. Dark hair that fell in unruly curls around his ears. He was wearing a t-shirt with the old Batman logo on it, white outlines on black, and a pair of khaki shorts. Black canvas trainers.

Before Eames could open his mouth to speak, the boy looked at him, tipped his head quizzically, and said, “You have black nails.”

“Yes, a friend painted them for me – do you think she did a good job?” Eames asked, holding out his right hand.

The boy stared a little longer, and then grinned, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. “Yes, she did.”

“Are you all right? I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”

“I am sorry,” the boy said, more solemnly, and took Eames’s hand. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Eames said, “I’m Stuart. What’s your name?”

“I’m Harry. Dad calls me Harold when he’s unhappy with me, though.”

Eames looked carefully at the boy, trying to understand why he seemed oddly familiar. “Well, yes, parents can do that sometimes. Speaking of which, where is this father of yours?”

“Harold! ...Eames?!”

“Dad!” Harry called, and Eames turned around slowly, watching as the boy ran up to –

Eames put his hand in his pocket and felt for the familiar grooves and nicks in his poker chip, the dead weight of the broken pocket watch.

Reality. This was reality.

Arthur was standing there with his hair just barely slicked back. A pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. A blue t-shirt with a smiling squid on the front, underneath a white shirt pinstriped in maroon. A pair of black jeans; a pair of black canvas trainers similar to the boy’s.

Harry took Arthur’s hand and towed him over to where Eames was rooted to the spot. “Stuart? This is my dad,” Harry was saying.

“Arthur,” Eames said quietly.

“Hello, Eames – Stuart,” Arthur said. And then he smiled, a little quirk of the mouth. “Do I want to know how you met my son?”

“I ran into him, Dad,” Harry said – but he wasn’t even looking at them, as he was digging into the backpack that Arthur had let fall to his feet.

“No damage,” Eames said, watching intently as Harry pawed through the bag’s contents.

Harry let out a triumphant little “Ha!” when he extracted an incongruously furry duck-like stuffed animal in bright yellow, and clutched it to his chest.

“Harry, what have I told you about looking where you’re going?” Arthur said, mildly.

“I ‘pologized,” Harry said, blushing a little.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and Eames raised his hands. “He did.”

“Sorry, Stuart,” Harry said again, and went over to him, holding out his stuffed toy. “Boco says sorry, too.”

Eames patted the toy on its head – and then he patted Harry on his head, too, causing the boy to laugh up at him. “Like I said, apology accepted.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Arthur put a hand over his mouth, and there were deep and amused lines around his eyes. He held his other hand out to his son. “How about that snack I promised you, Harry?” And after a moment: “Coming, Eames?”

Eames laughed, then, and he bent down to take the hand that Harry had smilingly offered to him. “Certainly.”

///

Watching Harry write intently in a ruled notebook, Eames sipped his iced tea and said, conversationally, “Dying of curiosity here, Arthur.”

“Not much to say, Eames,” Arthur said, watching the small hands carefully write in a tall, loopy cursive. “Harry’s my sister’s son. She adopted him when he was a baby. I was his Uncle Arthur for a good long time, and I was trying to spoil him for her – but then she was in the accident and she died, two years ago.”

Eames winced and nodded. He remembered the naked anguish on Arthur’s face, the sudden fear and worry – and now, looking at Harry, he could understand Arthur more easily. Hell, he’d just met the kid, and he was caught up in him already.

“The one and only time you ever scarpered on a job,” Eames said.

“And with good reason, no matter what anyone says,” Arthur sighed. “Her in-laws have been taking care of him for the last two years, with my support, of course. I tried to see him as often as I could, and sometimes I’d Skype with him – he’s pretty good with computers. And then after the job with – well, you know which one it is – I decided it was time to be with him, to be his dad. So I called in a few favors and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Eames said. “How about a chocolate sundae, Harry?”

“Is it okay?” Harry asked, wide-eyed, before turning to Arthur. “Dad?”

Arthur nodded, and flagged down a waitress to order. “No nuts, though.”

“Sure,” she said, and grinned at Harry before speeding off.

“So you’re out, then, and Ariadne wasn’t joking,” Eames said.

“Is that how you knew to come looking for us?”

“I knew you were here, stateside,” Eames said, chuckling, “but I was expecting to have to look for you. Not for your boy to lead me to you.”

Arthur laughed, then, and when Harry looked up at him he kissed the boy’s cheek. Harry smiled, showing off his dimple, and went back to his writing. “It’s either a talent or an extremely bad habit,” he said, “or perhaps my son just knows something I don’t.”

“Hard to believe that,” Eames teased.

“Chocolate sundae,” the waitress said, presenting a glass bowl to Harry.

“Wow,” Harry said, wide-eyed, at the cherry on top and the lit sparkler. “Thank you!”

“Say thank you to Stuart, too, since he offered it to you,” Arthur said, ruffling Harry’s hair.

Harry pushed the bowl towards Eames with a smile. “Thank you, Stuart. Would you like some?”

Eames laughed, then, and picked up one of the spoons. “Certainly. Thank you, Harry.” To Arthur he said, “He certainly has you beat in the charm department.”

Arthur just smiled, and dropped a kiss on top of his son’s head.

///

“Would you like to stay with us tonight, Eames?” Arthur asked that afternoon.

Eames smiled. “I’d not impose on your hospitality. I’m sure I can find a hotel room, and visit you from there.”

Harry reached out for Eames. “I’d like to see you again, Stuart.”

“And I you, Harry. There are many jokes I’d like to teach you.”

“I’ve heard a lot of Potter jokes,” Harry offered, his face screwed up in a laugh that was also half a wince. “Getting tired of them, too.”

“I can tell you different stories,” Eames said.

“And for that you must stay with us,” Harry said, grinning, as though he’d caught Eames in a trap.

Eames laughed, and held a hand out to Arthur. “Now I know he’s your son. All right, you win. I’ll stay.”

Arthur smiled, and there was something deeper in that smile, a different kind of promise.

Eames met their smiles, the boy’s and the man’s, and began to dream about the future.

 **fin**   



End file.
